Then, of a sudden, she remembered her coming to the South under a flag of truce, honored alike by the Confederacy and the Union. She would show a white flag and if Lee Hendon saw her he would at least know that she was not an enemy.
Her handkerchief, she decided, was too small, but she had a large white veil and this she tied to the handle of her parasol. Then she talked slowly on, waving her improvised flag in the air.
But for a time she saw nothing of the man she sought. Now and then she would halt and look about her; but everything was silent and still, and, though she could imagine that the bushes hid all sorts of wild creatures, there was no movement to show of their existence.
She set off again, a little discouraged, but after a moment or two a sharp cracking of a twig off to her right, brought her to a stop. Again she looked back, peering into the closely growing underbrush and straining her ears, but there was no further sound and once more she walked slowly on.
For several minutes she continued on her way, when a low whistle halted her in her tracks. She was certain now that she was followed. She had felt it vaguely before, and the cracking of the twig had confirmed this sensation. Now the whistle was sure evidence, and she stood still and waited.
In a moment or two she heard the rustling sound of something moving through the bushes toward her, but could see nothing until a voice addressed her out of the thicket ten yards or so away.
“Are you looking for any one in particular?” came the low-toned inquiry.
“Yes,” she answered, boldly, but her heart was beating a little faster than was its wont.
“Who sent you?” was the next challenge.
“Hal May,” she returned. The bushes parted and the man whose face she had seen at the window the night of her first party at the Mays’ stood before her.